Ten of Swords
by Dementra
Summary: He lives and he dies. Over and over again. Just when will this nightmare end?


**Tarot of the Week**

 **Author's Note:** This used to be a chapter-fic, _Tarot of the Week_ , but I decided to separate them since they are not related and are from different categories.

Funny thing about this one. I was absentmindedly thinking about which tarot card might be chosen for this one and the Ten of Swords popped into my mind as one of the options. Then, when I went to randomly pick a card from the deck, the Ten of Swords appeared. Was it a coincidence? Or an unexpected instance of intuition at work? Anyways, this oneshot is actually something I've been thinking of for a while now, except it's supposed to be a part of a time travel chapter-fic. I'm not sure whether or not I'm actually going to write the chapter-fic in question, but I really do like the idea and want to write at least a part of it. So, here's the more angsty oneshot version of it. It's up to you to decide whether this is Shinichi or Kaito.

To me, this one was about hitting rock bottom, so the fanfic is going to be angsty no matter what. But, at the time, I couldn't think of a way to write a good tragic oneshot without either a background story or another character introspection, which I didn't want to do twice in a roll. Then, I remembered a fanfic idea and decided to use it, but I made it more angsty and a bit abstract. Basically, either Shinichi or Kaito get killed by Gin or Snake respectively and, for some unknown reason, gets thrown into a time loop where they and/or their family and friends get killed over and over again. Over the lifetimes, they gradually go from being determined and hopeful to being guilty, hopeless and somewhat suicidal. There's even a lifetime where their morals become compromised and they experience their first kill. I ended the oneshot with them becoming tired of everything, but there was a second option of them going crazy that I didn't write.

 **XXXXX Jan 7, 2018 XXXXX**

 **Week 2: Ten of Swords (Detective Conan)**

Blue eyes stare down the barrel of the gun unflinchingly, face hardened and blank, not giving away how his heart pounds away beneath his ribs. The game is over. He has been discovered. All he can hope is that they, _she_ , will not get involved in the darkness that dragged him under.

"This time, I'll make sure you _stay_ dead," his greatest enemy snarls.

Bang!

 _Dong_

He screams, fighting against the arms holding him back. An inferno blazes before him, consuming the building whole, and firefighters are there, trying to douse the flames and rescue anyone still inside, but he doesn't care, because _she's in there! She's still in there!_

 _Dong_

A sharp pain pierces him with every step he staggers away with a hand on his stomach, desperately keeping his internal organs where they should be. His foot catches on something and he falls face forward, almost blacking out from pain when he hits the dirty ground. Phone. Where? Help. He needs help. He needs—

 _Dong_

Playing pretend has become the norm, but it is getting harder and harder to stay in the light when he world is so seeped in perpetual darkness. One day he breaks down and confesses everything to her. She is strong, he has always known that, so she stands steady by his side, facing his demons with him. Months later, he regrets his weakness and further steels his heart.

 _Dong_

This time he stays away. It is more than easy to fake his death in an explosion. Then, he changes his appearance and creates a new identity with the skills he learnt lifetimes ago, switching names and faces whenever necessary. He strikes his enemies from the shadows, anonymously sending out information to related parties and thwarting Their plans where he can. He has learnt his lesson. He isn't going to involve innocents ever again. When he ends up staring at the barrel of a gun again, he smiles, because while he hasn't been able to take down the entire organization, his loved ones are still safe since his true identity is still unknown to Them. He has no regrets.

 _Dong_

Everyone has fled the skyscraper, everyone except for him. Fire blazes several floors below and an inferno is raging on the roof. As if it isn't enough, the floor he's on is full of bombs. He knows he can escape from this alive; he has done this before. But, as he watches the timer count down, he wonders if it's even worth the effort to try.

 _Dong_

Without a second thought, he tackles her to the ground, grunting when a bullet enters his back. She screams in his ear, but he's already rolling them out of sight, ignoring the pain with practiced ease. He had never meant for this to happen, for her to get targeted, but it looks like he has failed again.

 _Dong_

He can't feel his legs anymore, having been crushed by the debris, and dust is coating his lungs with every inhale. He knows the statistics. It's likely he'll bleed out before help can arrive, but there's really nothing to fear. The only thing he's afraid of is waking up again.

 _Dong_

The blade glistens in the light, beckoning him with the sweet promise of release. He reaches for it, stares at it for a few seconds, and then harshly throws it across the room with a snarl, because he knows those promises are false. There will be no peace for him afterwards.

 _Dong_

Cold blue eyes stare down at the man that had once haunted his nightmares, gun still smoking in his hand, and feels absolutely nothing — no satisfaction, no freedom, no horror, no anguish, just a sense of emptiness. Once upon a time he has sworn to never kill and felt disgusted by murderers. And now he is one of them and feels no remorse. Oh, what has he turned into?

 _Dong_

The wind whistles in his ear as he falls through the sky. This time, there's no white glider or elastic suspenders to save him, but he can't bring himself to care. Flying like this is more freeing than he has been in a long time.

 _Dong_

He instinctively coughs and chokes, but it does nothing as salt water easily fills his lungs. His limbs flail, but they are getting heavier by the nanosecond, and darkness creeps into his eyes.

 _Dong_

They are still precious to him, but he's tired. Tired of seeing the echoes of what used to be and what could be. Tired of having memories that no one else remembers. Tired to forging relationships over and over again. Tired of seeing people commit the same mistakes. Tired of chasing Their shadows. When will this all end?

 _Dong_

Blue eyes snap open once again.


End file.
